


When Leaves Fall

by LadyStrangeandUnusual (Dream_Wreaver)



Category: Beetlejuice - All Media Types, Beetlejuice - Perfect/Brown & King
Genre: College, Deetzland, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Family, Musicalbabes, beetlebabes, ratings and tags subject to change, sequels
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:47:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27357499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dream_Wreaver/pseuds/LadyStrangeandUnusual
Summary: With Beetlejuice back and college just around the corner Lydia finds that growing up is complicated enough without throwing demons, family, and an entire other world of rules into the mix.Sequel to In the Spectre's Shadow
Relationships: Adam Maitland/Barbara Maitland, Beetlejuice/Lydia Deetz, Charles Deetz/Delia Deetz
Comments: 9
Kudos: 24





	1. Prologue: Golden Summer

**Author's Note:**

> So, I have honestly been wanting to write a sequel to ISS since it ended, but for the longest time I struggled because of the way ISS itself was inspired. See, when I began writing it was inspired by a very specific scene towards the end (yall already know I'm sure lol) and the rest was more or less done in service of getting to that point. Until recently, I didn't have that same scenic spark for a sequel; but now that I do I'm so excited to get to share this new story I have cooking up for you all. Anyways, enjoy!

The days of summer, though unbearably hot and humid even in the middle of nowhere Connecticut, were a welcome reprieve. No more school for a little while, no more annoying classmates, just an open day even with the dreaded, dreaded sun. And especially following Beetlejuice’s return, Lydia welcomed the increased free time. Every day was something new, even if it was the same old, same old. Mostly it was the exploration of Winter River, taking photos and christening graveyards and other places where the two of them could be alone together. It was a summer unlike any other, namely because it would be Lydia’s last of freedom. Her senior year was fast approaching, and already she heard the whispers from all four of her parents. Where she would go, what to apply for, testing dates and centers and ways to ensure that she had good scores. Trying to figure out if they should put a limit on her fun so she could do her research and figure out where she wanted to go, what she wanted to do with her life. And the discussion of whether or not Charles would even be comfortable with letting Lydia go off on her own. While their relationship had improved quite a bit he was still an over protective father and that meant that he wanted her someplace where he had pull and could keep an eye on her even if he wasn’t there himself.

Strangely enough it was Delia who’d had Lydia’s back the most through all of this. From the big reveal that Beetlejuice was back and that they were now really a couple, to the last day of school to even now, when they didn’t openly talk about what they all thought Lydia should be doing instead of playing with the demon poltergeist thing she’d married, Delia would step in on her behalf.

“She’s still young,” the redhead would remind them all, “We remember when we were young, when we were forced to do what we didn’t want to do, how we may have felt, even if it was for our own good. But the best way to deal with Lydia is to put our trust in her; deep down, she’s a good kid, she’ll buckle down when she needs to. But can’t we let her have the summer?”

Even though they agreed not to force her, the pressure was still there. In little ways, ways they probably thought were subtle but truthfully weren’t. Adam and Barbara reminiscing over their college yearbooks, the times they had, and then segueing into asking Lydia what she thought college was like. Did she know it wasn’t all frat houses and sororities? Did she want to maybe travel abroad at some point? But Lydia, a master of deflection at this point, would tell them that why bother paying money to travel when Beetlejuice could bring her anywhere she wanted in an instant? The Maitlands would sigh, but they would play nice, if only because they knew if they pressed Lydia too hard she would sic her husband on them both and neither of them were powerful enough on their own or together to match against him.

Later one night, Lydia was laying in her bed staring up at the ceiling of her room just thinking. About how big everyone seemed to think this year was for her. The decisions she would have to make. For the love of god she was already married, there wasn’t exactly a bigger decision than that right? But all this talk of colleges and what she wanted to do with her life had just been repeated so many times it nagged at the back of her brain. And Lydia sighed,

“Um babes,” Beetlejuice caught her attention, “I know I’m always one for attention but… I get the feeling you’re a little distracted,”

Lydia looked down at where he was, at the moment between her legs with both of them raised up high to give him better access. Technically, this was something they’d already started doing, but even as they’d been making out Lydia had been distracted. Kissing was something she could easily mentally disengage from, but she hadn’t even realized he’d gotten her naked by this point. When had _that_ happened?

“What?” she shook her head, “No, it’s nothing, I’m fine,” she told him, “Get your ass to work,”

“It can’t be nothing if you’re lacking the venom you usually spit at me like this,” Beetlejuice shot her a crooked smile and she realized he was naked too. Again, when the hell had that happened? “C’mon now, out with it, what’s got your panties in a knot?”

“I wear thongs,” Lydia corrected, “And considering the state we’re both in, I’m gonna say you knotted them when you tossed them to the floor,”

“Ha, funny,” he shot back at her, “But seriously,” he set her feet down on the mattress and balanced his arms on her knees, “Somethin’s been buggin’ ya, and it ain’t the bugs in my teeth. What’s on your mind baby?”

“It’s just,” Lydia sighed again, letting her head drop back onto the pillow, “All summer, all it seems to be when I’m around the house is everyone bugging me about ‘my future’,” she said, adding air quotes around the last two words, “About college, where I want to go, what I want to do with my life. And if they’re not asking, they’re hinting at where I should go. And, I mean I don’t even know if I _want_ to go, it all seems kind of pointless. I mean, I’m not obnoxiously wealthy or anything, but I have enough in my savings that I can live comfortably enough,”

“I can always rob a few graves to make up the difference,” Beetlejuice added, “Whatever you wanna do,”

“There’s a lot I want to do,” Lydia sighed, thinking about one of the things she was certain she’d never get to do, have a family. She was married to a dead man, ain’t no way in hell anything could come of that. It certainly hadn’t so far, “But why does everyone think I need some stupid expensive piece of paper to be able to do it?”

“‘T’s the way the world works,” Beetlejuice reminded her, “And I’ve been watching it long enough that I would know. You’re luckier than most babes, you got a daddy who can pay for you, and opportunities a lot of suckers who sign their souls away never get. Hard work is for the weak, everyone knows that.”

“So why sell off mine to classes when it doesn’t matter and I’m pretty much guaranteed a job thanks to dad’s influence if I ask?” Lydia asked him, “More importantly… why should I take away a spot from someone who really wants to go and doesn’t have the luxuries I do?”

“Not that I’m too keen on sharin’ ya babes,” Beetlejuice began, “But I think ya should at least try.”

“That’s a surprise, coming from you,” Lydia remarked with a raised brow, “I figured you’d hate school. You certainly hate Miss Shannon’s,”

“School is shit, college ain’t,” Beetlejuice stretched out an arm and gently tapped her on the nose, “Find the right place and you can get up to all kinds of wild and crazy shit. You know how many wimps I got to scare the crap out of because they fucked with a Ouija board and summoned me? Think of the pranking potential at the very least Lyds, frat houses and sororities filled with a shit ton of potential victims!”

“Why are you so gung ho about college all of a sudden?” Lydia asked him, not for a second buying that he was sincerely encouraging her to go to college, even though he was obviously getting something out of it.

“I mean, you’re married to a college grad,” Beetlejuice reminded her, “Can’t say I wouldn’t have at least a little fun re-dying some of the glory days.”

“College grad? You?” Lydia shook her head, “I don’t believe it.”

“I told ya didn’t I?” Beetlejuice shot back, “I’m a graduate of Julliard,”

“Juilliard?” Lydia scoffed, “Please,”

“Roll them pretty little eyes all you want,” Beetlejuice tutted, “This is one of the very rare occasions where I’m not bullshitting you.”

“Oh yeah?” Lydia challenged folding her arms over her chest and only barely suppressing a smirk when his attention was instantly diverted, “Prove it then,”

But Beetlejuice was too busy staring at her cleavage to respond. Lydia sometimes wondered why he bothered to argue with her at all. The result was always the same regardless of who was actually in the wrong. A little tit, a little thigh, some angry turned to makeup sex, and everything was right as rain, all was forgiven. Beetlejuice was a perverted dumbass with a one track mind, but she loved him all the same.

“Beetlejuice,” she prodded. When he still didn't respond she jostled her knee a little bit and added, “Neither of us is getting any until you prove to me you went to Julliard, but if you'd _rather_ stare at my tits all night rather than getting to touch them-”

“Oh, right, proof,” he shook himself out of his lustful stupor, “You wanted proof, well I got your proof right here,” for a moment she thought he was just going to tackle her and then fuck her until this was an argument entirely forgotten. But nope, just a snap of his fingers and a heavy looking class ring fell onto her chest.

“Julliard…” she peered at the small engravings of the ring in the dim lighting, “Class of… wait a moment, does this say 1988?” Lydia raised a brow at him, “Why the hell were you at Julliard in 1988?”

“Technically I was there between the years of 1980 _to_ 1988,” Beetlejuice corrected.

“You spent eight years at college?”

“Don’t some breathers spend more?” Beetlejuice asked in reply.

“Even so, you seem like the type who hates school, so why stay there?”

“Performing arts kids throw the best parties,” Beetlejuice explained, “Booze, drugs, the occasional orgy, it was great.”

“Ah, I get it,” Lydia rolled her eyes, “You want me to go to college so you can tag along to all the wild parties I _won’t_ be attending.”

“Nah,” Beetlejuice waved her off, “If I want ya drunk and stoned I’ll bring the goods myself. Same goes for the orgy, only one you’re doin’ that with is me,”

“And me,” a clone said as he popped out of nowhere.

“And me,” chimed a third before the original made them all disappear, adding,

“I could go on but I think you get the idea,”

“I get that one,” Lydia allowed, “But what was the other point you were trying to make; about college being good? What is it you want out of this?”

“The ability to traumatize other breathers because dorms have thin walls?” Beetlejuice offered, “Some god damn privacy so I can make you scream as loud as I want when I want? Take your pick Babes because I could go all night,”

“I know you can,” Lydia reminded him, “It’s why I’ve already had a couple days where I couldn’t go outside because I was too sore to walk, remember?”

“Good times,” Beetlejuice smiled to himself, “Good times,”

“Hey, focus,” Lydia told him, chucking the class ring at his head. Unfortunately the smug bastard caught it right out of the air and sent it back to the ether, which reminded her,

“Wait a moment, if you can’t interact with the world of the living unless someone says your name three times, how the hell did you graduate from Julliard? More importantly, how the hell did you get a class ring?”

“To answer your questions; one, I stole the ring the year I graduated from the breather graduating class. Objects aren’t considered the world of the living when the living aren’t around. Two, do you have any idea how many professors and students have keeled over associated with that school? Starving artist types always go to their happy place, so trust me when I say there was an entire ghostly student body and faculty. Besides, I could sit in on breather classes without a problem, the certificate was the only thing I needed authorization on.”

“Ah,” Lydia remarked, not believing a word but knowing that allowing him to show off often benefited her more in the end.

“Seriously though,” Beetlejuice countered, “College is supposed to be where ya figure shit out. And sometimes ya figure out college ain't for you. In the meantime though, I bet you wouldn't mind wasting daddy’s money while having nightmare inducing sex, right?”

Lydia giggled despite herself, “Always so charming, aren’t you?”

“There’s a reason why ya married me ain’t there?”

“Yeah,” Lydia shot back with a smirk, pressing against one of his shoulders with her foot, “So I could be a black widow, pity you’re flat broke,”

“Like you need anymore money,” Beetlejuice grumbled, “Can’t you just ask ol’ Chuck for more allowance?”

“That pays my credit card bills remember?” Lydia raised a brow, “And thanks to a certain _someone_ , that bill has left me with very little in terms of spending money to pay it.”

“In my defense,” Beetlejuice offered, “You enjoyed all those outfits as much as I did,”

“Yeah,” Lydia admitted, “Until you tore them to shreds,”

“Couldn’t help myself,” he sent her a lopsided grin with a pointy tooth showing.

“You never can, can you?” Lydia shook her head fondly, “But getting back to the subject at hand, I… I’ll think about it I guess, the college thing, I mean.”

“That’s all ya need to promise ‘em,” Beetlejuice told her, once again proving that no matter what -he had her back. Or _on_ her back as the case may have been.

“Great, and now that that’s settled,” Lydia teased, “Are you going to get back to work or am I going to have to break out my _other_ set of stripes?”

“The fact that you own a striped vibe is hardly the blow to my ego you think it is,” Beetlejuice shot back at her, “As a matter of fact…” he snapped his fingers and the toy flew out of its hiding spot in one of Lydia’s dresser drawers, “Why don’t we let it join in on the fun?”

BJ BJ BJ

Sometimes it seemed as though her afterlife was an unending stream of paperwork. Then again, maybe that’s because it was. And to be quite frank, had she known then what she knew now Juno wasn’t certain she would have picked as gruesome a way to die as she had. Then again, watching her louse of a husband’s face as she’d done it, all the while knowing that her modified will -a copy of which she’d left at three separate family attorneys so he could never destroy every copy- would ensure he wouldn’t be using the modest fortunes bequeathed to her sister’s children to pay for the various mistresses he’d gotten used to having after their marriage.

Be that as it may, the relentless torrent of processing new arrivals with their endless pages of black typed text on plain white paper was enough to make anyone question their grand exit from life when this was what awaited them on the other side. Two hundred years of civil service, punishment for messing with the powers that be by taking your life into your own hands. Something Juno thought was just a bullshit excuse because it was a job someone needed to do and it was easier to exploit the christian beliefs of suicide victims receiving divine punishment. But eternal flames would be a mercy compared to this. Because they knew, though one was sentenced to only two centuries, it wasn’t as though ghosts needed food, sleep, bathroom breaks. It was easy to keep them confined, and when they got out, they had nothing. Easier simply to stay, at least then one had the slim chance their efforts would be rewarded.

Which brought her thoughts to Beetlejuice. Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice. A thorn in her side for longer than she could count. Time moved differently for the dead, and just because one died in one year didn’t mean time moved forward from then. She hadn’t quite known what to make of the existence of that which should not exist. Part demon, part Lovecraftian horror. All abomination, and Hypatia had certainly made sure he’d known it before he’d been put in the bureaucracy’s hands. He’d been a troublemaker, didn’t work well with others, hated being under anyone’s thumb, and he’d paid the price for it. When he’d struck out on his own as a bio-exorcist, someone who claimed he could get rid of the living, no one thought he’d make it that far. He was cursed, bound, and only by having the living release him could he ever do them any harm. But he’d always managed to find a sucker, there was a new one born every minute, and just as many of them dying as well.

But this, this situation. Forcing a living girl to become his bride, letting her escape into the Netherworld, the Maitlands allowing themselves to be photographed, to have a large gathering nearly provide the living with proof of existence after death… it was a mess she was still cleaning up months later, easily one of his most disastrous schemes. Especially little Lydia Deetz, running headfirst into the land of the dead, searching for her mother who wasn’t even there. And Charles Deetz, chasing after her. Two breathers let loose in the world of the dead, it was a miracle the Neitherworld hadn’t heard of that. The work Juno had had to do to contain the rumors of that mess had been an astounding feat, even for her. And of course, it all came with no reward. Then again, her job was never done, so it wouldn’t matter either way.

It was as she was looking over yet another incident report of the mess that there came a knock on her door. It was Tina, and she looked remarkably solemn. Which could only mean one thing, she’d been sent on the orders of the higher ups. Juno sighed and let a plume of smoke drift through the gash in her neck. Meeting with the higher ups was rarely if ever a good thing. But she’d been wondering how long they’d let this incident slide as she attempted to do damage control. They must have felt it was more or less contained if they had decided to bitch her out about it now. She ashed her cigarette and stood from her desk, following the receptionist to the board room. Several figures sat cloaked in shadow and true to the strange laws of physics and optics of this world the table end at which they all sat loomed higher over her entire body. But Juno refused to give the impression of being intimidated, regardless of whether or not that was how she actually felt.

“You called?” she asked, as coolly as she could manage. They may have wanted to see her, but she did have other tasks, other clients, to deal with.

“The Shoggoth Case,” one of them intoned, throwing down a folder to her end. It was one of the other incident reports, the one which described what exactly had happened to Hypatia Shoggoth, former head of the Bureau of New Arrivals.

Oh boy.

Juno lit another cigarette and took a drag before shrugging, “The paperwork is as good as it’s going to get,” she informed them, “Hypatia broke protocol by trying to take a breather out of the world of the living. The moment Lydia Deetz returned to the mortal world she was out of our jurisdiction,” sensing she had their attention she took another drag and then added, “Tell me your disciplinary action for her would have been any less severe,”

“Be that as it may,” one of the others cut in, “She would have been dealt with in a manner that would have had less liability on us. Since it was a case of matricide by proxy of revenge however, things are not so simple.”

“What do you mean by, ‘are’?” Juno asked them, not liking the way that particular word had been delivered.

There was a long pause. A moment of silence which stretched beyond uncomfortable into downright foreboding. Nothing they could have said would have been good news, but by choosing to say nothing Juno could feel her nonexistent heart begin to race. Then, finally, another object was slapped down before her. Unlike the first, this was a leatherbound container, one with Azureel, patron of Netherworld Justice, embossed on it. In one hand a flaming sword held down by her side, in the uplifted one a set of scales. Blindfolded with two eyes, and her third wide open, with a sandworm looming hungrily overhead. This day just kept getting better and better didn’t it?

But as Juno opened the file ash fell off her cigarette, followed by the cigarette itself.

Oh. Oh _no_.


	2. Chapter 1: Turning Colors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Back with another installment. Fingers crossed this makes sense to you guys because while I have an approximation of the plot it's really only broad details of what I want to see in the story. The details are something coming in the writing process itself. With that said, hope you enjoy!

It was hard being a parent, Barbara and Adam had found out. Despite knowing that Lydia needed them, that she liked having them around, it was hard. Lydia was and always had been too independent, to the point where she very rarely wanted parental intervention. She knew they cared, but the problem was that perhaps they cared too _much_. Though they hadn’t had Lydia in their afterlives for long, she’d become such an inextricable part of it. They didn’t want to lose her, which led to another set of problems.

While they’d always put off having children of their own after that scarring miscarriage, they’d always had a plan. They’d had some money put away, hidden under the floorboards in a little tin. A little here, a little there, not much, but enough to put a dent in college tuition. They’d known they wouldn’t be rich enough to pay for any school outright, but it would put a sizable dent in the bill, and with luck scholarships would take care of the rest. Ideally their child would have been the total package, intelligent, athletic, perhaps a little rebellious in their teenage years but ultimately a good kid at heart. Unfortunately, things hadn’t worked out that way. They’d died, and then they’d pretty much all but legally adopted a morose teenager, with mother issues that went far deeper once Charles had finally told them all the truth.

Lydia had their unconditional love and support, but perhaps it was simply human nature that they simply couldn’t help projecting their wants for her onto her. In a way that could have easily felt stifling if they didn’t content themselves with the knowledge that they’d never force her, only wanted the best for her. The problem was, they had so much love to give their intentions seemed less benign and more well-meaning but stifling all the same. But at least they had a common ally. Charles also only wanted the best for his daughter, but he seemed convinced he did know what was best for her and how to achieve it. And he didn’t exactly hide it well. So typical of a business man, to have a goal in mind and do everything in his power to reach it.

He’d been spending more time in his study as of late. Though he’d conceded to Delia’s request that they all give her the summer to be free, to make her own decisions, it clearly hadn’t been how he’d wanted the discussion to go. Despite being outnumbered three to one, Delia simply had a way about her that perhaps came from the clarity of knowing she could never relate to Lydia in the way she wanted to. Or rather, her lack of progress as a life coach had taught her there was truly no way to forcibly mold Lydia into her ideal, especially not as a step-mother. But Barbara was concerned nonetheless, anxiety had been a constant companion after that fateful event, though she did her best to hide it under a perpetually sunny disposition. He’d been so alone after Emily, from Emily until Delia and he’d confided in her more than once that though he loved her, Delia was the polar opposite of both Emily and of him, which meant that she didn’t always understand him the way he needed.

Taking a deep, but unnecessary breath, Barbara knocked on the door to the study. She felt nervous, but then again she remembered what had happened the first time she -concerned about Charles’ wellbeing- had visited him alone in the study. Thankfully everything had worked out, unconventionally perhaps but they were all happy enough. Even so, she was bombarded by memories that sparked both happiness and guilt, even though all had already been forgiven.

“Come in,” she heard his baritone sound from behind the door, but rather than expend the energy to interact with the door, actions that left her more and more drained if she did too much she’d found, she chose to simply phase through it.

Charles was sitting behind his desk, one hand braced against the side of his head, and the other swiftly writing something. Perhaps it was notes, perhaps it was a form that needed to be filled out. The beauty of his job meant working from home, which meant more time to spend with his unorthodox family. But after a moment, when he realized he hadn’t heard the door open and shut he looked up anyways. Upon seeing Barbara, he smiled,

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” he asked her, “And before you answer, if it’s a distraction, I’m afraid that I really do need to get work done today or I’ll be burning the midnight oil again.”

“You really shouldn’t do that,” Barbara clucked her tongue at him, “You know that’s bad for you, you need your rest.”

“I can rest later,” Charles waved her off, “Besides, I only do it when I don’t manage to reach the end of my workload by quitting time.”

“Charles haven’t you told me more than once that, ‘there’s always more work to be done’?” Barbara raised a brow at him, hands on her hips, “Sleep is important,”

“I’ll sleep when I’m dead,” Charles rebutted before freezing. It was a normal response when people expressed concerns for his health. But then, most people who he was talking to weren’t already dead. And he felt it was perhaps a bit insensitive to remind Barbara of that fact, “Uh…” he froze, trying to recover, “What I meant was-”

“Charles,” Barbara sighed, shaking her head at him, “Being dead is nothing to take lightly. It doesn’t solve any of your problems. And your health is nothing to take for granted,”

“I know Barbara,” Charles sighed in reply, “I’m sorry, that was insensitive of me.”

“I don’t mind the cracks about death,” Barbara told him, “I care about you not caring about yourself.”

“Not much to care for at this point,” Charles chuckled, “I’m already old,”

“But I care,” Barbara strode over and put a hand to his cheek, “I care a lot,”

His own hand covered hers as they stared at one another for a moment. Then he moved it to place a kiss on the icy flesh, “I know you do,” he said quietly.

“Come on,” she cajoled him, “Just a few minutes?”

“Alright,” he relented. She slipped between him and the desk, then settled herself on his lap. He curled around her, he chill pleasing in the sleepy haze of the summer afternoon. His head rested against her shoulder, and hers rested on top of his. The only way it might have been more comforting was the steady thump thump of Barbara’s heartbeat beneath his ear. But she didn’t have that anymore, so they made do with comforting touches. Her idle fingers playing in his hair, her other hand occupied with drawing comforting circles on his shoulder. She knew she could never get him to go to sleep, but a few minutes of rest was better than nothing at all.

BJ BJ BJ

Delia slashed at the canvas with her paintbrush. Art was perhaps her new found passion, a way for her to express herself through abstraction. Colors and line types and shapes, thicknesses of her brushes and mixed pigments and medium type. As a very hands on person, she preferred sculpting, which she found she was actually relatively good at, and only getting better with practice. But she needed something to do while her work was in the kiln, multiple times if she chose to glaze it. Painting provided a more welcome relief for immediate emotions some of the time. Clay was good for aggression, pounding and stomping and manipulating with the hands, something physical. Painting was good for worry, for sadness, for joy, colors that brought every feeling under the sun to life under her canvas and artistic eye. Despite her persistently cheerful nature, Delia often delved into mindlessly macabre art, strange and twisted shapes took form and it sometimes felt as though her arm was possessed by something which her mind did not comprehend. Sometimes, she painted when the memories threatened to be too much.

She painted a giant terrifying face leering over shadowed figures with a sadistic grin, the forms of the latter contorted in a way that might deceive the viewer into thinking it was some depiction of a cult summoning their god with chants and dancing. The reality was that it was an interpretation of that fateful night when everything had changed. When she’d seen Charles at his most broken and had been unable to help him despite her best efforts. Another one of a serpentine creature with horns and eyes and multiple mouths, kept under reign by a truly demonic looking figure. A portrait of a red wedding which she intended to give Lydia as an anniversary present for her and her husband. And lastly… a lone ship settled on the waters of an acrylic sea, a sunrise or a sunset causing the dots of pantomime roofs of a coastal city. On the ship’s deck, the silhouettes of two tiny men, standing hand in hand.

That one had caused her hand to still even as she’d painted, the memories of her ex still haunting her in a sort of melancholic guilt. Though neither of them had gotten involved out of love for one another, Delia had tried to love him, and he’d repaid her by up and leaving her. No note, no explanation, nothing. But that didn’t matter now, she had a family who loved her for who she was, and that was what really mattered.

“Delia?” a voice broke her out of her reverie, making her realize she’d stopped painting some time ago. She turned to Adam,

“Hmm?” she asked him in reply. He was standing a short distance from his latest passion project, a full scale model of Winter River. A way for him and Barbara to get out of the house without risking being eaten by a sandworm. It was something he could work on for hours without tiring of it.

“You stopped painting,” he remarked, stepping closer, “Is everything alright?”

“It’s fine honey,” she assured him, “Just lost in thought I suppose,”

“About what?”

“Life,” she answered noncommittally, “How quickly things can change I guess. I mean… five years ago I never would have expected I would happy here in a tiny New England town, married to an amazing, amazing man, becoming a second and third mother to his teenage daughter, and… just, content I guess.”

“You went through a lot, didn’t you?” Adam asked quietly.

“More than I think I could ever say,” Delia replied, “But it’s alright, everything happens for a reason after all.”

“It’s alright if it doesn’t,” Adam told her, striding up and hugging her from behind, “It’s okay to be upset because sometimes, things just happen without any clear reason why. Sometimes there is no reason, and that’s okay too. And you can be sad about that, you can be angry, and upset, and hurt and it doesn’t make you a bad person Delia.”

She hadn’t exactly realized how much she needed to hear that. That sometimes her efforts weren’t going to be enough, and that though that sucked it didn’t mean it was her fault. Delia let a tear slip out the corner of her eye and sighed contentedly,

“Thank you Adam,” she whispered.

“Come on,” Adam said after a moment of silence, letting her go to take her paints and brush and set them to the side, “There’s something I want to show you.”

Delia smiled indulgently at her lover, “And just where do you plan on absconding with me this time Mister Maitland?” she asked with a raised brow and a cheeky grin.

“I thought you might want a night on the town, so to speak,” Adam gave a sincere smile back at her that made her heart melt. It was no wonder Barbara had married him, “Give me your hand,”

She took it and the room began to spin. So severely in fact, she had to close her eyes. When she opened them once again she found herself on what looked like Main Street. When had the Maitlands learned how to leave the house? But as she looked up and saw the twinkling christmas lights Adam had substituted for sun and stars and the rafters of the studio, she knew. They weren’t _outside_ the house, they were _inside_ the model. And the thought behind it was incredibly sweet. Besides, from this point of view Delia could see all the little details Adam had put into making the model as accurate as possible, it was certainly a feat of artistry.

“Oh Adam,” she breathed, turning around as she took it all in, “It’s wonder-”

But her words were silent as she saw the man leaning against a building and looking incredibly pale, even breathing a little hard even though he didn’t need to. Delia rushed to him, holding him at his shoulders and placing one hand on the side of his face,

“I’m… fine,” Adam panted, weakly attempting to wave her off, “Just a little…” but whatever he was going to say was cut off by his attempt to regain his strength. After another moment or two he was able to stand a little straighter, “Sorry,” he apologized, as if he’d caused her an inconvenience, “Barbara and I haven’t done this with any living people before now,” he admitted, “It took a bit more energy than I expected it to. I’m fine now, really,”

“Well…” Delia hesitated, “Just in case, why don’t we enjoy some peace in the park,” then she slid her arm through his and began slowly walking them to the model park, which thankfully happened to be right nearby.

BJ BJ BJ

“I told you guys for the last time, I would _think_ about college! I didn’t make any promises I would go,” Beetlejuice was lounging on Lydia’s bed where she’d left him after the previous night. She’d said she had some errands to run in town and didn’t want the interruption, promising with a flick of her tongue against the tip of her tongue that if he behaved himself there’d be a reward. Normally he didn’t like doing what he was told, but he knew what that glint in her eye meant, so he was content to do absolutely nothing for a day while waiting for sex.

There was some kind of response, muffled through the door. Clearly Lydia was closer to her door, which meant the other person was following her up.

“Well there are plenty of jobs which don’t require a bachelor’s,” Lydia argued back, “Photography for one…”

There was silence from her as there came another rebuttal. And clearly Lydia was not the one winning by the sounds she was making,

“Well maybe I don’t want to work in corporate America, did that ever occur to any of you?” She hollered, “Maybe I want to be a beatnik, or some homeless wanderer, or maybe, maybe I wanted to travel the world and see what was out there! But no! Clearly we have to plan out Lydia’s future because she’s too dumb to know what she wants. Right?”

The pair was now close enough Beetlejuice realized the person speaking was Barbara. At least, it was Barbara _now_ , “Lydia sweetheart,” she tried to soothe the girl, “We’re not trying to tell you what to do or how to live your life. It’s just…” Beetlejuice could imagine the woman pausing as she tried to be honest without being mean. What a pity Babs, the truth was always brutal, “We’ve noticed you don’t… precisely, um… I mean, we just want to help you. But it’s tough not knowing what your goals are.”

“I don’t have any,” Lydia deadpanned back. That was his babes, Beetlejuice smirked; didn’t even need him to come to her rescue, but he would if he felt it was necessary. But she could fight her own battles, especially against a shrinking violet like Barbara Maitland.

“Oh come on now,” Barbara’s tone was clearly going for chipper and supportive but he could tell by the way it came out she’d overshot it and her true nervousness was clearly audible, even if he couldn’t see her expression, “Everyone has goals!”

He heard Lydia sigh, “Alright then,” she replied resignedly. But if he knew Lydia, she was anything but. This was just giving her enemy exactly what they asked for, but not what they wanted, “You want goals right? Fine; my goal is to _not_ wakeup at forty full of regret and hating my life because of a career I was forced to pick in my teens. Is that a good enough goal for you, or should I try harder?”

Fuck she was amazing. Beetlejuice licked his lips as he practically imagined what Lydia looked like in this moment. Likely standing there with her feet spread apart, shoulders squared, and an unimpressed expression painted on her pretty, pouty features as she stared Barbara Maitland down. And even without the visual, Lydia had a point. Too many breathers he’d watched waste their time on this mortal coil doing things they hated because they lived in a society without the privilege of wealth or power that could afford them freedom. He watched them get lines and wrinkles, aches and pains, and a disillusioned sense of the world which later carried on into their afterlife. Even when those people found peace in death, it was an empty void of nothingness until they realized how to get to the Neitherworld. But not Lydia, never Lydia, not if he could help it.

He’d been so busy being lost in protective thoughts he didn’t realize Lydia had ended the argument until the slam of her door brought him back to reality. Lydia was huffing, still working through residual rage. He had a few ideas of how to help her blow off some steam, but by now he’d gotten pretty good at being able to tell when she’d be receptive to that sort of thing, and when she wouldn’t. Now was one of those latter times, where the proposition of sex to help work through her issues would just make him the object of her anger. And as hot as she looked while angry it just wasn’t worth it in his eyes to get her further revved up when there was little to no return on that particular investment. As it turned out though he needn’t have bothered. After a moment Lydia let out a sigh of deflation as she leaned back against the door. As fun as he found it, he knew Lydia hated arguing with Babs, namely because the blonde was one of the only mother figures she had left. He knew a lot about parental neglect, less so about abandonment since his dad had split long before he’d ever had a chance to form a memory of him. But Lydia’s hurt was still fresh, and the fact that she had Babs and Red had helped soften the blow a great deal. But it still hurt. Because while they were good for her, they were no replacement for the original.

“You wanna see yer mom, doncha?” he asked, even knowing he didn’t have to to know what she was thinking.

“Get out of my head,” she said, both the words and her accompanying glare lacking their usual venom. Even if he knew her well enough to know what she wanted, he also usually knew it was a sore spot better left untouched if he wanted to retain any hopes of sex that particular week.

“While I gotta say I’m flattered you think of me enough that I seem to be stuck in that pretty lil head of yers, I’m only sayin’ what yer already thinkin’.”

She ran her hands through her short hair in frustration, “Ugh!” she snarled, “I hate it! She’s gone and she didn’t even care enough to tell me goodbye! And now I’m here missing her like a fucking _idiot_!”

“Yer not an idiot babes,” Beetlejuice floated over and picked her up, cradling her in his embrace as he hovered them around the room, “From whatcha told me, up until she went splitsville she was pretty cool, well,” he snorted, “As cool as any parent could be.”

“It was more that…” Lydia sighed, “she didn’t try to change me, hell, most times she didn’t even question me. If I wanted to go out with fake blood running down my head she would just shrug, and say cool or she’d help me make it look even more realistic. She never judged me for what I wanted to do, she never questioned me on what I would or should do with my life. And it’s not that I don’t love having Barbara and Delia around. I love them, I really do-”

“But they ain’t her,” Beetlejuice finished, “And babes, dead or alive, yer ma’s departure was barely a year ago. Time may move differently fer the dead but even with one foot in the grave you still gotta lot of livin’ left in ya.”

“You’re making sense,” Lydia sighed, “I hate it when you do that,”

“Death don’t mean shit to me, remember?” Beetlejuice parried, “I know what’s on the other side of it, but life. Shit’s precious, but it means you move at a different pace. Besides, ya went from having no mom, to having a step mom, to having a ghost mom and dad in the middle of a move you didn’t know jackshit about until you were already there. Then ta top it all off, you found out Daddy’d been lyin’ to ya not just about banging the redhead, but about birth mom being dead ‘cuz he was tryin’ t’protect ya.” he sighed, “I don’t agree with Chuck on a lot of things, but I don’t blame him for doin’ that,”

“Especially not when it drove me into your arms, right?” Lydia raised a brow and gave him a small smile.

“‘Course not,” Beej cackled, “Now, c’mon babes, I’m bettin’ you got some pent up frustration yer just _dyin_ to let out.”

Lydia simply shook her head at him, “Not in the mood bugbrain,”

Clearly his little peptalk hadn’t helped.

“Y’know it’s okay to be mad, right?”

She slid off his lap and began pacing around the room, “Of course I know it’s okay,” she replied, voice raised a little in her frustration, “I’m just so sick of… We had three days together, but you never treated me like a child. And I know they’re just trying to help, but they’re being so _pushy_. And it sucks because I feel like even though Delia’s at least trying to be on my side it’s not in a way where I can talk to her about this stuff because… _ugh_!”

Lydia shook her head vigorously, “I can’t stand it anymore, Beej,” she told him, “I need to get out of here, for a little while at least.”

“I ain’t takin’ ya to the Neitherworld,” Beetlejuice deadpanned, setting himself feet first on the ground and folding his arms at her.

But she turned those big eyes on him and batted her lashes, “Please?” she begged.

“I almost lostcha once forever because of that shithole,” Beetlejuice raised a brow at her, “I ain’t riskin’ it again.”

“But-”

“No,” he said with an air of finality, “Anywhere else in this world. But not there, never there. Got it?”

She huffed, “Fine,” she relented with her own arms folded. After a moment she looked up at him, “New York then?”

“Big place,” he parried, “Anywhere more specific in mind?”

“I… I don’t wanna ruin the surprise,” Lydia said haltingly, “Let me pick?”

She looked so soft and vulnerable he couldn’t find it in himself to deny her. He would need to do something particularly viscous to his housemates to make up for this later. Public banging? Nah, too predictable. Maybe vandalizing that little model of Adam’s? He’d have to think on it more later.

“Fine,” he grumbled, taking her in his arms and holding her hands so that he could direct his juice through her body, “But if I find out you’re taking us to the Neitherworld I swear your ass is getting the paddle,”

“Oh come now Beej,” Lydia clucked her tongue at him, “With an incentive like that I almost think you _want_ me to do it,”

He could keep that little argument going for a while, but despite her teasing tone, he knew she wasn’t really into it. Not right now, he might be able change that later. But only if they got their asses in gear,

“Goddamn cocktease,” he muttered under his breath. But otherwise he said no more. To share his juice, even through a conduit, took concentration. It was something they’d worked on through the summer months, since while she shared a bit of his abilities, for anything more advanced than his own summoning she needed his aid.

He felt the tug deep in his belly. The tug of displacement as they travelled between the space of reality in order to reach their destination. It was only a few mortal seconds, but time itself could slip away from them in here if they weren’t entirely careful. It was another reason why most ghosts were either told to go straight to the Netherworld or were assigned preliminary haunting periods of a hundred and twenty-five years. Too many souls had been lost in Displasia, and all of them had needed to be accounted for. He’d warned Lydia about it, which was why he felt her grip tighten in his. If they got separated there was no telling what would happen to her, and he could spend years, centuries, trying to bring her back with no success. But after a moment, it was all over. And when Beetlejuice opened his eyes he found himself at a very familiar spot.

The cemetery which had started it all. In front of the self same headstone no less. The stone which bore only her first name and nothing else. Just Emily. It was an empty casket in an empty grave, but for Lydia, it was all she had left of her mother. Somehow, Beetlejuice had wondered why they hadn’t been here before now. As Lydia let go and fell to her knees he almost wanted to look away. His Lydia was not weak, was not broken. She stood tall and proud and prickly; obstinately defiant to anyone who dared say she was anything but extraordinary. Strange and unusual, that was his babes. But here, here was where any pretense of bravery, of being okay, left her.

She had been avoiding this place for far too long. Part of her had wanted to rush to New York the moment after returning to the living world and… well, she didn’t know what her plan would have been when she got there. Defacing the headstone? Screaming obscenities into the night until the police were called and she got arrested for disturbing the peace? There was no telling for then. But now that she was here? All the strength left her and she allowed herself to mourn, perhaps properly, for the first time since she’d found out. Thanks to open communication and a lot of therapy Lydia understood why her father had gone to such lengths to protect her. How could you tell your own child the person who had given birth to them had up and left without so much as a goodbye? Even she, as blunt as she was, didn’t think she’d be able to do it. But despite how many times she’d considered coming to visit this place, of what she’d tell the empty headstone, what she might do to it which was the least of what might have been deserved as retribution- now that she was here she just felt an overwhelming wave of loneliness and despair wash over her. It was one thing to know your mother was gone, whether through death or through choice, but it was quite another to be confronted with the reality of what was now only a lie to protect her from these very feelings. That headstone with only her mother’s first name written on it was all she had left, that and the memories of who her mother had once been, or who Lydia had thought she had been, at least.

How long Lydia knelt there and wept, she couldn’t have said. Long enough that dark clouds overhead let loose a torrential downpour on par with her overwhelming emotions and Lydia still stayed, head hung low with hair in her eyes and remained unmoving. The water seeped into everything, leaving her drenched and sodden and still she stayed. Once or twice Beetlejuice was kind enough to offer some sort of cover but she would not answer him. No, Lydia knelt before that lying grave and wept until the hot tears flowing from her eyes could no longer be distinguished from the chilly rain which coated her. Until the chill of the water from the atmosphere rendered her numb and unable to feel anything more than a dull yet cathartic ache. Lydia stared at the letters engraved on the marble until they went blurry, but she did not move. And Beetlejuice did not disturb her in this, letting her do as she wished without a word to interrupt her, offering only his silent support of a watchful eye during her vigil. It was barely light out, a dark and gloomy dusk by the time that the rain lightened up. And Lydia was almost ready to go home when she heard it.

Beetlejuice had known whatever Lydia had come here for, whatever her reason, it would not be something she shared or explained to him. Human emotions were well above his pay grade, so he simply remained by her side. A bit of magic to keep the rain off him, and her despite her declined offer. Though he was certain he was forgetting something… something about not leaving your breather out in the rain, though he wasn’t entirely sure of why. Either way, he was certain that unless he dragged Lydia kicking and screaming away she wouldn’t go. And if he took her away now she would just find some other way to return, and likely some way that risked her very existence which he wasn't about to let her do. So he let her stay. But just when it seemed she was ready to go dry off somewhere, he heard a sound. The annoying sound of abundant cheer and happiness. In a graveyard of all places. And more importantly, so did Lydia.

He watched her freeze at the sound, so antithetical to her current mood. Beetlejuice was ready to torment the shit out of whomever it was that was disturbing the somber and solitary nature of this necropolis when they strolled into view. Or rather, a great big black umbrella came into view, kind of unnecessary considering the storm had slowed to a sprinkle. But the couple themselves were barely discernible from the parasol in the gathering eve. Still, it bobbed closer and closer and Beetlejuice could feel the ire building within him. No one would intrude on Lydia’s solitude, no one but him.

But before he could gather up something to throw at them, he heard Lydia softly order,

“Let them pass.”

And so the couple walked on, but not by. No, they chose to stray from the path and meander among the headstones, eventually stopping by Lydia to stop and smell the roses. Or the grave dirt, in this case. And then the woman said to her companion,

“Oh what a wonderfully dreary evening! Don’t you think mon cher?”

“Absolutely cara mia,” he replied, “but not as wonderful as you,”

And then, one of them spotted Lydia, while Beetlejuice vanished from sight.

“Why look Gomez,” the woman said, “It’s a little girl, do you think she’s lost someone?”

“Shall I ask?”

“Please do,”

In the corner of her eye Lydia could see fine leather shoes by her side, and as she glanced she saw attached to them a finely tailored pinstripe suit. Up she followed with her eyes, until she saw a kind and jovia man. But when he saw her, he gasped, and for her part, Lydia had the strangest sensation of deja vu.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a comment and let me know what you thought. Thank you so much for reading and I'll see you all next time Netherlings!

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment and let me know what you thought. Thank you all so much for reading and I'll see you all next time Netherlings!


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